


When I give, I give myself

by Achromos



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prison, Angst and Feels, Canon Timeline, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endearments, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Recall, Pre-Recall, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-03-01 19:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achromos/pseuds/Achromos
Summary: Instead of the Swiss HQ blowing up, Strike Commander Jack Morrison stands a very public and decisive trial for Overwatch’s war crimes, and is incarcerated after a guilty verdict. Meanwhile, Gabriel Reyes has to become someone else, in order to protect their legacy. He continually visits Jack in prison, trying to bridge the distance their sacrifices put between them.





	1. First visit

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone and welcome to the Prison AU! This story is going to be a series of short, character-centered chapters that will explore this AU, the morreyeson relationship, and follows the canon timeline. As such, the story will likely remain a WIP, as I plan to add more chapters whenever we get more lore added to the game. I am also planning on a second work, a collection of "epilogue" moments post-canon, but I don't know when I will get to do those. Probably once I'm properly caught up with our current timeline of events.
> 
> I don't want to explain too much, so without further ado ...
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> PS: Work title is a quote from Walt Whitman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack receives his first visitor since his incarceration at the USDB.

“Visitor for you, Morrison.”

There were a few angry shouts from the other side of the mess hall, but Jack didn’t let it perturb him. Ever since he’d been incarcerated at the United States Disciplinary Barracks there had been a need to develop a thick skin for the other inmates’ words. Being called a mass murderer was far less important than getting to see his visitor.

They put his hands and feet into titanium alloy cuffs that were supposedly strong enough to even withstand the strength of an enhanced soldier like him. He’d never tried it, and the likelihood of another SEP candidate ending up in a similar situation was close to zero, so he guessed they didn’t know how true that statement was either. He let the guards shepherd him to the visitation room without making a fuss, calmly sitting down in front of the bulletproof window.

On the other side, Gabriel looked at him with barely constrained fury and sadness.

“I hope they didn’t give you too much trouble letting you in,” Jack said evenly. “I heard the guards can get quite frisky. Though maybe if you used your Diesel Wartsworth alias they were afraid to even go near you.”

Gabriel’s mouth twisted at the corners. After a pause, he put both of his hands on the table, showing Jack how hard he was clenching them.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you sooner,” he said, voice trembling almost as much as his hands.

Jack shrugged.

“I didn’t expect you to. I knew you’d be busy.”

The noise escaping Gabriel’s throat didn’t get translated properly though the old-fashioned speakers, leaving Jack to wonder whether it had been a strangled laugh or a curse.

“I can’t believe- …” Gabriel rubbed at his eyes. “You took the fucking fall for me and I don’t even have the decency to fucking visit you. After all that you’ve- …”

Jack cut him off: “It was either me in here and you out there, or me in here and you on death row. I made my choice. All I ask is that you make the best of it.”

Eyes trained on a gauge in the table, Gabriel nodded stiffly.

“How, uh, how are you doing? I mean … How horrible is it?”

Jack shrugged again, feeling the weight of the titanium cuffs dragging on his wrists.

“I try not to think too hard about the fact that I’m next door to a child rapist, but other than that I guess I’m lucky they didn’t put me in Florence ADMAX with the terrorists and the serial killers.” He sighed when he saw Gabriel flinch. “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve developed something of a dark humor over the last months.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

He laughed weakly, looking uncomfortable. Jack kept his eyes trained on Gabriel’s face, soaking in all the emotions written there. Despite the circumstances, he was glad to be talking to him. He just wished it wasn’t hurting Gabriel so.

“How are the others doing?” Jack asked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Oh. Well, since the Petras Act was ratified, everyone’s just been kind of hanging around. No one knows what to do now. Winston holed himself up at Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Lena went back to London to stay with Emily. Torbjörn and Reinhardt went home, I guess. Angela is thinking about joining the Doctors Without Borders, last I heard.”

“And you?”

“I did some real progress on our investigation. I have a list of names, and I am sure of their connections to you-know-who. There have been a few assignments, too, and I think they’re starting to trust- …”

“No,” Jack interrupted him. Gabriel froze, startled, and looked at him. “I mean … How are you doing?”

Gabriel sucked in a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. After a few moments, he reached up to rub at his eyes again, and then covered his mouth with his palm. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“How can you just sit there like that and ask me how the fuck I’m doing, Jack?”

Jack waited, thinking he was going to say more, but when the silence stretched on, he sighed.

“Because I love you, you dumbass. I’m worried about you.”

“Worried about- …?” Gabriel slowly, deliberately leaned forward and put a tight fist on the table. The look in his eyes said that he wanted to punch the bulletproof glass and test whether it could withstand an enhanced soldier. “Fuck, Jack. I have enough nightmares to cause an entire city to have insomnia. I try to work, follow leads, complete assignments, but all I can think about is you in here, rotting away because of me, because I wasn’t careful enough, because I made the wrong enemies. But none of it matters, because you threw away your life for me, and you’re asking me _how I’m doing_?”

“Yeah,” Jack shrugged, looking at his cuffed hands. “Sorry. It’s a stupid question. We can talk about whatever you want to.”

“No, we can’t, you can’t just- …” Gabriel made a frustrated sound. “Jesus, Jack, you look like you’ve lost thirty pounds, and don’t tell me it’s just muscle mass, because I know they have a training facility in there and I’m guessing weightlifting and pushups are probably the only thing you do all day and you’re still bored out of your fucking mind, worrying about _me_ , when I’m the asshole who got you locked up. You trusted me to protect us, and I botched it. I fucking failed, Jack. And now you’re in there because of me.”

“I still trust you, Gabe. You haven’t failed, I’m just buying you more time to do what you need to.” He snorted. “You always were the only one of us who knew what to do, and how to do it.”

“Those charges. The ones you shouldered because of fucking command responsibility. I did all of that, Jack. I tortured people, not you. I got civilians killed, not you. I killed these prisoners, not you,” he said desperately, touching his fingertips to the glass, as if he could reach through and touch Jack. As if he could make Jack understand, if only they were skin to skin.

“You did what you thought was right. For the good of humanity. You were ready to make sacrifices so others didn’t have to; you made the tough choices. But now it’s my turn.”

Gabriel shook his head.

“I should never have lost sight of what we were fighting for. I thought that the end justifies the means, but I was wrong, Jack. I was wrong, I know that now, and you shouldn’t be the one to suffer because of my bad choices.”

“It’s what I promised, though. To always stand by your side, through the good times and the bad. And though these might be exceptionally bad times, I stand by my word.”

He reached out, pressing his hand to the glass separating them in the exact same spot as Gabriel. When the other man spotted the titanium cuffs, he clenched his jaw. And then he saw Jack’s finger, still pale and narrow, where the ring used to be.

“You know, I took the same vow,” Gabriel said, voice carefully level.

Jack met his gaze, smiling peacefully.

“I know.”

“I’ll do everything I can, I promise. They’ll pay for what they’ve done. I swear, Jack, this won’t have been in vain.”

Jack nodded, letting his hand drop to his lap.

“You know, I took the coward’s way out. You’re the one who has to do all the work again.”

“That’s not true, Jack.”

“It is. And I wish I could be with you. That I could help you find whoever is responsible and make them pay. I wish you didn’t have to do this alone. I wish you didn’t have to give up your goddamn identity and go undercover. But what’s done is done, and I don’t regret it. There was no scenario where we both live and walk free.”

“Maybe not. If I had just been more decisive, though. If I had just acted faster, done more- …” Gabriel shook his head. “It won’t do to dwell on these things.”

Jack sighed.

“We talked about this, Gabe. We knew that this might happen, and we made contingency plans. Me taking the fall, it made sense. The public wanted my head anyways, so I only gave them what they wanted. They had already condemned me way before the trial.”

“I know. I know, and I don’t want you to think I’m mad at you. I’m just- … I’m angry in general, I guess. Angry that you had to do this; that it got to the point that you had to make this choice,” Gabriel admitted.

Jack looked away, masking the gesture as rolling his shoulders and neck. He’d had many thoughts over the months since being brought to the USDB. Some of the mean, some of them self-pitying, some of them regretful. His trust and love for Gabriel always won out, though. And he needed him to know that.

“I keep telling myself that this is a joint effort,” he muttered, shuffling his feet. “But all I had to do was plead guilty, and now I just gotta sit in here and look pretty. Give an interview or two. Talk to a couple lawyers. All the while, I am asking you to do things I know are against your nature, in order to singlehandedly bring down the most influential and dangerous terrorist organization the world has ever seen.”

“Jack … You didn’t ask me to do any of this.”

“No?”

Challengingly, he met Gabriel’s gaze. There were tears in his lovely brown eyes, but he was smiling too.

“If you really were the spotlight-stealing, arrogant asshole everyone thinks I think you are, I’d have dumped your sorry white ass a long time ago. You know I believe in you. I’d follow you to the end of the fucking world. And I guess you already went ahead, so all I gotta do is catch up.”

“Well …” Heat rising to his face, Jack rubbed his jaw, noting that the stubble there was getting a bit long. “For the record, I was being self-sacrificing when I pleaded guilty.”

“I knew it!”

There was a second of silence, and then both of them burst into laughter.

“I did think about you,” Jack said earnestly, after both of them had sobered a little. “Every damn second all I could think about was how fucking much I was hurting you with this. But I couldn’t see another way, I swear to God. If there was another way, something that wasn’t going to tear us apart like this, I’d take it in a heartbeat.”

“I know, Jackie. And I want you to stop that, okay? I don’t want you to think about how this is affecting me. I don’t want you to worry, alright? It won’t do either of us any good.”

“You can’t ask me to stop worrying about you. Are you gonna stop wondering how I’m doing?”

Gabriel shifted in his seat, looking contrite.

“No. I guess.”

Jack smiled fondly.

“You old sap.”

“Sure.” Gabriel shrugged. “You know, I’d really like to hug you right now.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe if I behave they’ll let me see you without some bulletproof glass between us.”

“Next time?”

Jack paused, flexing his fingers. There was a light-hearted smile on Gabriel’s face, but with every passing second it grew into something more pained and forced.

“We both know you can’t promise to visit me again. Not with what you’re about to do.”

Gabriel leaned forward, eyes dark and serious.

“I love you. You know that. It’s the truth. So believe me when I say that I will come back to see you. And I will get you out of here, one day. Kicking and screaming, if need be.”

“Just promise to take care of yourself. If it risks your mission, don’t come here. Please.”

“I’ll visit my husband whenever I goddamn want,” Gabriel growled.

“I’d rather you stay safe,” Jack shot back.

“And I’d rather you weren’t alone in this hellhole, but it looks like neither one of us is going to get what we wish for.”

Jack snorted and was about to quip something funny, maybe get Gabriel to smile again – because he really, really missed seeing that smile – when he heard heavy footsteps behind him. There was a gut reflex to duck and expect an attack, but he quenched it and sat still as a guard grabbed his elbow. Though he did resist the force petulantly.

“Time’s over, Morrison. Let’s get you back to your cell.”

“Wait,” Gabriel said, standing on his side of the partition. “Wait, we didn’t say goodbye.”

The guard sighed, and released Jack’s arm.

“Make it quick.”

Jack sat in his chair, letting his eyes roam over Gabriel’s form as he stood on the other side of the glass. Both of them mutely blinked at each other, as if at a loss for words.

“Take care,” Jack said first. “I love you.”

Gabriel surged forward, pressing both palms against the separating window.

“I know, Jack. I know, and I love you too. I promise- … I promise. You too, though. I’ll come back.”

Before he could say something in return, the guard was back, pulling insistently at Jack’s elbow. He knew he had to go with him, but all he could think about was _just one more second, just a little bit more, a little bit longer_. Gabriel, looking tortured, pressed two fingers to his lips and then touched them to the glass. Before Jack could return the gesture, guards closed a door in his face, cutting off the view.

He shuddered, suddenly feeling cold. He didn’t stop shivering until much later that night, wrapped up in the threadbare blankets they were given. As he lay there, unable to fall asleep, he listened to the sounds coming from the other cells. Mumbling, snoring, groaning, the rustling of blankets and the creaking of cots. Suddenly, he felt very lonely. So he closed his eyes and tried to conjure the feeling of Gabriel’s presence. The way he would radiate warmth, except for his icy toes. The sound of his sleepy breathing. The weight and solidity of him as he lay in bed next to Jack.

With this image held firmly in his mind’s eye, Jack eventually drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :3 This chapter marks the beginning of a journey that I hope you will all accompany me on.


	2. Recorded visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack was interviewed for an article in Atlas News. Thanks to his new media privileges, he can check how (un)flattering it turned out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find an accompanying graphic I made [here](http://llaevateinn.tumblr.com/post/170417540844/chapter-2-recorded-visit-jack-was-interviewed-for), over on my tumblr.

Jack casually swiped his finger across the surface of his hardlight tablet, trying to seem as cool and disinterested as possible, even though he was aware of the dozens of pairs of eyes directed at him. Not only were they jealous of the media rights he’d gained for good behavior, but also because they were interested in one particular piece of news.

Opening the page of Atlas News, Jack paused, staring at his own face.

A week ago, a young reporter from the influential, multimedia news service had visited him to interview him about the first year of his life sentence at the USDB. At first he’d been nervous about the interview itself, though he’d had quite a lot of practice since becoming Strike Commander. When he met Olympia Shaw, however, her professionalism guided him through the two hours as if he were having a nice conversation with a stranger. She never seemed to judge him, or to guide his answers in a direction she wanted. She seemed genuinely interested, and talented at getting his notoriously stiff tongue to loosen.

He got nervous again once she left. Night after night he lay awake, thinking back on the things he’d said. Did he give himself away? Did he get too comfortable? What if he said something that would implicate Gabriel and make life difficult for him? Was she going to twist his words after all?

Now was the moment of truth. He opened the article, poking his two-dimensional copy in the chin in the process. It was quite the flattering picture of him about a decade ago, at the peak of Overwatch popularity. The title splashed across it was “Hero or War Criminal? Jack Morrison’s First Year After the Trial of the Century”. Quite sensationalist, but then again, he couldn’t fault her for wanting to generate a lot of clicks and likes.

_It is a sunny autumn afternoon as I make my way to the USDB (United States Disciplinary Barracks), where Jack Morrison, former Strike Commander of Overwatch and convicted war criminal is being held. As soon as I step through the gates, all warmth leaves me, replaced with the repressive, cold air of the only supermax military prison of the US. The room I meet Morrison in is small and dark, and he is led in under heavy guard. Ignoring the security measures, he greets me warmly, excusing himself for the fact he can’t shake my hand – his own his cuffed to the table._

 

> **_Shaw:_ ** _How are you feeling today, Mr. Morrison?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Please call me Jack. And I’m quite well. We had lasagna for lunch, which is quite the treat._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _So you have adjusted to prison life?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Sure. Not much to adjust to, though._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _You are bored? Tell me about your daily routine, what kind of activities do you do?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Hm. There is nothing to do, here. All my life I was used to having things to do. Chores, people giving me orders, people I needed to give orders to. But here? There is a strict routine. Long stretches of time are spent in my cell, separate from the others, away from any form of entertainment. But when we do get some free time, I go to the gym. I read. I eat. I sleep. Rinse and repeat._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _What about the other inmates? Do you interact with them much?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Not really. Half of them hate me for what Overwatch did while it was effective – stealing the US Military’s spotlight as the first response regarding anti-terrorism worldwide. You realize, most of the guys here, they were the Army’s spearpoint. But the other half hate me for what I made Overwatch do. The crimes I was convicted of. Because they believed in us, and the reality has disappointed them._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _That must be difficult._
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _I know what I did. I respect their opinions. It doesn’t matter._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _You don’t care what other people think of you or your actions?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Not in that sense._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _In what sense, then?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Most people don’t understand what it means to save the world. That’s the easy part, though. We helped stop the Omnic Crisis. But to maintain peace for nearly thirty years after that? It takes sacrifices. It takes … (long pause). They don’t understand what it’s like. So their opinion doesn’t matter._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _Alright. Have you heard about any of your former teammates and subordinates? Some of them are doing quite well for themselves, for example Dr. Angela Ziegler, who has joined the Doctors Without Borders, currently working in Somalia. Others are not doing so well, however. How does this make you feel?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _I’m proud of Angela. She was always a bright woman, and I’m glad Overwatch has not tarnished her reputation. It would be a great loss for the world. What do you mean, others are not doing well?_
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _For example there is former Blackwatch member, Jesse McCree. There is currently a bounty of over $400,000 on his head for crimes such as theft. Was Blackwatch a mistake?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Jesse was just a teenager when we liberated him from the Deadlock Gang. He was a victim as much as anyone who was affected by Deadlock. He was a Hispanic, half-Native American, homeless orphan, who was treated unfairly by life. We gave him a chance to redeem himself. And I cannot speak for his actions now, but I still believe that the disenfranchised deserve a second, and if needed a third or fourth chance._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _You seem quite passionate about the topic. Do you believe Overwatch managed to make a difference in this regard?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Not enough. We could only help individuals, but not fight the system that oppresses them. It was not our place. Or so we were told, anyhow._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _You disagreed with some of the policies that restricted Overwatch’s jurisdiction?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _When the world tells you that you are their global peacekeeper it is hard not to feel responsible for every injustice and all the suffering in the world. We could have prevented gang wars. We could have broken up just a few more of those smaller drug rings. We could have made further advancements in medical sciences that would have saved millions of lives. We could have intervened more. But more often than not we were not welcome. Especially in the fight against systematic racism, misogyny, homophobia or transphobia we were … shall we say, hobbled. I was told multiple times to keep our agenda strictly paramilitary and, after years of fighting for it, we were finally allowed to also invest into medical research. But as I say, it was not our place to help. Not everywhere. Not all the time._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _And whose decision was that, if not yours?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _The UN’s, of course. I understand having to respect the sovereignty of nations, and in retrospect it was pure hubris to think Overwatch could solve all of the world’s problems. But we all wanted to try anyway._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _With we, you mean …?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Overwatch command. This includes the UN Overwatch council, my second in command, Captain Ana Amari, the heads of department, Dr. Ziegler, Dr. Lindholm and Lieutenant Wilhelm, and the commander of Blackwatch._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _Gabriel Reyes. He is still a fugitive._
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _(cough) Oh, is he?_
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _Public record is clear on the fact that you knew Reyes even before Overwatch was ever considered as an effort to end the Crisis. Some people believe therefore that you are covering for your longstanding friend, allowing him to evade prosecution. What do you say to that?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Gabriel is a smart man. If he doesn’t want to be caught, he won’t be caught._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _So you are not denying that Reyes is also guilty of the charges that were brought against you?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _No comment._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _Please, it is only logical. Even if you were the one giving orders to torture, kill and violate state laws, he must have been the one to execute them. Do you deny this?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _If you want to continue this interview, I would kindly request that you cease this line of questioning. We are not in front of a jury here._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _Alright, change of topic. One of the most discussed subjects currently is the announcement of Tekhartha Mondatta, a Shambali monk. An omnic, claiming to have reached enlightenment. Claiming that omnics have souls. What are your thoughts on that? You have fought against omnics, saved the world from annihilation by omnic hands._
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _I think smarter men than me should answer these questions. I’m not a philosopher, nor am I a theologist. I can’t tell you what defines life or what a soul is or what enlightenment means. But if omnics truly turn out to have souls? That they are as alive and self-aware as us humans? Well, I think it’s a wondrous thing. It raises questions, yes. But we wouldn’t put up as much of a fuss if we discovered alien life, would we?_
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _Recently there have been concerns regarding King’s Row and Null Sector, the omnic terrorist group that created a lot of chaos years ago during what is colloquially referred to as the Uprising. Overwatch was critical in containing the threat._
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Against the wishes of the British government._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _Right. Did Overwatch treat Null Sector as it did any other terrorist group, or did you have protocols in place specifically for omnics?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _No. Terrorists are terrorists, it doesn’t matter if they’re omnic, human, British, American or otherwise. The protocols in place didn’t differentiate._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _So if Null Sector becomes a threat again you would propose that they be treated equally to humans?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Sure._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _But they aren’t human._
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _I learned during the Crisis that it doesn’t matter who or what is shooting at you; it’s hostile activity, and there are certain ways to subdue a threat. I’ve found that it makes no difference if the one shooting at you is a human or an omnic._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _Would you advocate omnic rights, then? Even though you made a name for yourself by fighting omnics?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _If it really turns out that they are self-aware? I don’t know about souls, but if they are alive, in whichever sense that is required for them to count as living beings … Then yes. They should be treated fairly and humanely._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _That is quite the controversial statement. Do you feel you can speak more freely, now that you still have public attention, but are not bound by UN regulations?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _(laughing) Definitely. But I have to be careful, too._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _How so?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _I don’t want to say anything wrong. Or be misunderstood._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _Do you feel that you are misunderstood?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Sometimes. I think people believe that I’m a person that shoots first and asks questions later._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _What kind of person are you, if not that?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Someone who is trying to do their best._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _Do you believe you succeeded?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _No. But my work is not done yet._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _That sounds intriguing to say the least._
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _I merely mean to say that though Overwatch as an organization has failed, perhaps the idea of each of us having the potential to become heroes, that each of us has the means and the power to become the change we want to see in the world … This idea might not have died just yet. We will have to wait and see._
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _Related to this, what are your thoughts on the Petras Act? Do you believe it will hinder the possibility of Overwatch becoming a historical symbol?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _Perhaps. I think the Act was too broadly worded. What does Overwatch activity truly mean? Since we are disbanded, even if former Overwatch agents chose to continue in their line of work, is that considered Overwatch activity? Will people standing up for their neighbors and opposing suppression and inequality be prosecuted under the Petras Act?_
> 
> **_Shaw:_ ** _Interesting. Is there anything else you would like to say to our readers?_
> 
> **_Morrison:_ ** _No. They should come to their own conclusions._

The article ended with a short bio of the interviewer, Olympia Shaw, apparently an up and comping expert on Overwatch history. That it was already considered history, not even a full year after the official disbandment, was a bit disheartening. But the article itself was not too bad. Jack thought he did okay, and though a lot as cut from the end product, Shaw had done a fine job putting it all together in a coherent article.

Jack set down his tablet, feeling his anxiety dissipate. Michaels, a guy who was his next door neighbor and also had media rights, asked him whether he could borrow the tablet, and he handed it to him.

If nothing else, the interview had given him a few things to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :D


	3. Personal visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As time goes on, problems arise on both Jack's and Gabriel's end.

He was just about to break his personal record for one-handed pushups, when a guard called his name and dragged him out of the rec room.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“You’ve got a visitor.”

“Uh, can I at least make myself presentable?”

“No.”

At least this time they left his hands and feet uncuffed, so he took the minute or so walking to the visitation room trying to dry his sweat-soaked shirt. Not that it mattered, if it was who he hoped it was, he’d seen him in worse states.

To Jack’s surprise, he was brought to the general visitation room, where a few other prisoners were already happily conversing with their friends and family. His own face stretched into a wide grin, when he saw who was waiting for him.

“Gabe,” he sighed, going in for a hug.

“Geez, Jack, you smell rank.” Gabriel pulled away, grimacing. “And what type of animal is that on your face?”

Jack grumbled.

“Is that any way to greet your husband after nineteen months of separation?”

Gabriel’s face softened, and he drew him back in.

“Of course not. Sorry. It’s good to see you.”

As discreetly as possible, Jack took in a deep breath, relishing in the feeling of those strong, familiar arms around him. They unanimously parted a little for a kiss – just a short, sweet peck on the lips. But then they had never needed much more in terms of public displays of affection. Were never allowed more, either.

“Okay but seriously, since when are you the bearded one in the relationship?” Gabriel groused after sitting down at their assigned table.

“You’ve still got your goatee,” Jack chuckled, but self-consciously rubbed his own chin. “Does it look that bad? It’s just … they won’t let us have razors, obviously, and you can only get an appointment once a week. At first I went every week, but now I don’t go unless it starts bothering me.”

Across the table, Gabriel’s eyes softened.

“Jack, baby, you’re always gorgeous.”

Jack snorted, shaking his head.

“Come on, you’re not here to talk about my looks. How have you been? How’s the mission?”

“It’s … going well.”

Rolling his eyes, Jack leaned in.

“I don’t think you need to be worried about anyone listening in on us in here, angel.”

“No, I do. Jack, even coming here was dangerous.”

“Alright. You don’t have to tell me everything. I only want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m good, I suppose. You seem much happier, though. Met any cute guys?”

“Oh, ha ha.” Jack rolled his eyes and feigned a punch in Gabriel’s general direction. “I guess I’ve settled in for now. There are a few people I’m friendly with, including the guys I work with. And the rec room is basically my territory, so I’m getting a lot of training in. What do you think?”

Gabriel snorted when Jack flexed his bicep.

“Very impressive, Mr. Beefcake.”

After dropping his arm, Jack leaned forward and sighed, suddenly serious. There was a burning question on his mind, and no matter how much he’d like to laugh and talk with the one person he’d missed more than anything, he needed an answer.

“Okay, I’m going to try to formulate this in a way that doesn’t sound shitty, but Gabe, why did you come here today? You said it yourself, it’s risky. And in no way would I ever want you to put yourself at risk. Not for me.”

He watched Gabriel closely, seeing the way his jaw clenched, probably to hide some other expression like a frown or a frustrated sigh. To anyone else, Gabriel would have seemed impassive. Calm, even. But Jack knew him, knew every inch of him. And he was hiding something.

“There is a,” Gabriel started, but stopped himself with a huff, rubbing his neck. “Have you been following the news recently?”

Taken aback, Jack blinked mutely for a few seconds. That was unexpected.

“I do have media rights nowadays, but I only occasionally check the sports section.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“It’s just- …”

Gabriel sighed, visibly frustrated. His hands were restless, tugging at the lapels of his suit jacket, rubbing at the sharp line of his jaw, knocking against the table as he gestured helplessly.

“I’ve been successful. I did so much headway. They’re trusting me, and I finally got upgraded from consultant and mercenary to actual agent. I have access to their resources now, and I even- … I’ve made some discoveries, like you wouldn’t believe. It was going great.”

“That’s amazing, Gabe,” Jack said gently. “That’s so good. I’m so proud.”

But neither of them pretended that Jack didn’t hear the past tense there.

“What happened?”

“Two missions. Jack, I fucked up. I had a perfect track record, up until- …”

“Until what?”

From where he was sitting, Jack couldn’t see it directly, but he knew that Gabriel was jiggling his leg. He never did that, until he was very, very distraught.

“If it’s classified, we can find another way,” Jack offered. “You could talk to someone else, go to a secure location. I’m sure we could manage something.”

“No, no. It’s not like that. Not yet, anyway.” Gabriel rubbed his face with both his hands, and when he met Jack’s eyes again, he suddenly looked very tired. “Jack. There has been Overwatch activity.”

Jack rocked back in his chair as if Gabriel’s words had been a physical blow.

“Who?” he barked out.

“Winston,” Gabriel replied readily. “He issued a recall. As far as I can tell, only Lena has answered so far. But I’ll bet my shotguns others will soon be following.”

“And you encountered them?”

Gabriel nodded, mouth downturned unhappily.

“I was supposed to infiltrate Watchpoint: Gibraltar and extract information about former Overwatch agents’ locations. I had a plan to corrupt the data and blame it on traces of Athena’s AI, but- …” He looked away, eyes clenched shut. “Jack, I had to hurt Winston. Not too much, I know he’s got a tough hide. But my handlers … Let’s just say they weren’t happy that I didn’t kill him when I had the chance.”

Jack itched to say something, to let Gabriel understand that it was not his fault. That he didn’t expect any more from him than that. That he had done good. But he knew Gabriel wasn’t finished yet, and it was best to let him get it all out first.

“It was my first fuckup though, so I guess they forgave me. Strike one, and all that. But then … Jack, they sent me on a mission with Widowmaker.”

Jack gasped. It had been known to them for a while who the infamous Talon sniper really was. That behind the rifle and scope was their beloved friend. A woman they had all cherished, and whose loss had hit them all so very hard. And Amélie Lacroix was dead, even if a mockery of her was now operating under the alias of ‘Widowmaker’.

“Oh Gabe,” he whispered.

“It was fine. I had it handled. I didn’t give myself away and I was able to compartmentalize. I was focused on the mission. We were to retrieve the Doomfist gauntlet from the Overwatch museum. And I know what you’re thinking, of course I know it’s not ideal to let them have such a powerful weapon, but I had no other choice. Until Overwatch interrupted us, that is. Winston and Lena, against me and Widowmaker.”

Gabriel shook his head, eyes screwed shut.

“Jack,” he said, “I have never been so afraid in my life. I barely knew what to do. I thought maybe I could buy them time, perhaps they could secure the gauntlet. But that would be strike two for me, and I didn’t know if I could afford that. A second mistake, so soon after? And again, involving Overwatch?”

“What did you do?” Jack asked.

“Well,” Gabriel said, barking out a rough laugh, “it turns out that Winston and Lena are capable of kicking our asses all on their own, though they had the help of two kids, of all things. Widowmaker and me had to retreat. The gauntlet is secure, for now. And obviously I wasn’t deemed untrustworthy, because this time it was Widowmaker who fucked up too, and she is nothing if not a hundred percent loyal. If even she wasn’t capable of completing the mission, maybe they thought I did my best as well?”

Quietly, Jack released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“It’s good to hear that your cover is still intact. But you shouldn’t have endangered yourself even more by coming here. I just want you to stay safe.”

“Jack, you’re missing the point.” Gabriel leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Overwatch is back. Winston and Lena, and whoever decides to join them … Not only are they vigilantes, they are liable, they could be persecuted. Under the Petras Act, any and all Overwatch activity is deemed illegal. That alone is bad. But they are also going up against Talon. Against me. And they don’t know it, but they’re endangering my mission.”

Jack sighed, nodding thoughtfully.

“Alright, but there is nothing we can do about that.” He blinked, seeing the pointed look Gabriel was giving him. “What? Gabriel, we can’t- …”

“ _You_ could,”  Gabriel interrupted him in a hushed whisper. “Jack, if you talked to them. If you could persuade Winston to stop before it’s too late. You’re allowed to make phone calls, right?”

“They could be recorded, monitored. And if I got involved, it might only complicate things. What if they claim I was the one who instigated the recall? Can you imagine the backlash from that?” Jack shook his head. “Gabe, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do. If Winston is foolish enough to do this, to try and take on Talon on his own, we need to let matters take their course.”

“But- …”

“Gabe.” He reached out, clasping both of his hands in one of his own. There was a barely detectable tremble, and he must have been clenching his fingers so hard that all blood rushed out of them. Rubbing his thumb over Gabriel’s knuckles, Jack tried to bring back some warmth, but it was futile. He was helpless. They were helpless.

“I don’t think I can fight against them. Not again, Jack. I don’t think I could kill them if it came to it.”

“You don’t have to, baby. No one is asking you to. If it becomes too much, that’s what we made our extraction plans for. Your safety in this operation is paramount, Gabe. Above even the objective.”

Gabriel’s hands twisted until he was the one holding Jack instead of the other way around.

“But that would mean you’d never get released,” he whispered.

“Oh, Gabe. I never counted on that.” He chuckled mirthlessly, seeing Gabriel’s incredulous and hurt expression. “Even if you toppled Talon and exposed all their operations for the world to see. Even if you showed everyone that we were fighting the good fight all along. Did you really think they would just free me of all charges and let me walk? Angel, I knew what I was getting into when I pleaded guilty. I’m in here for good.”

It pained him to see the realization sink in; to see the grief and anguish on Gabriel’s face, before it was replaced by righteous fury.

“Then I will make that my next mission. To get you out of here, no matter the cost.”

“Gabriel- …”

“No, Jack, you listen to me. I don’t care about Talon. They are a matter of honor and justice. One last big hurrah. Saving the world one more time. But you? You are the love of my life. If I fight this fight for the good of humanity, then I get to have a goddamned happy end, even if I have to work for it myself. We’ll retire and I’m going to grow old with you by my side, and I’m going to coddle you until the end of days. We earned this, Jack. Fuck the law, and fuck this prison. I’m getting you out. For me. Let me be selfish about this, about you.”

Jack contemplated their entwined fingers, emotions warring inside him. He was so, so afraid for Gabriel, and all that he wanted was to know that his husband was safe and happy. But it seemed like the two were mutually exclusive.

“Please, baby,” Gabriel whispered, clutching his hands harder. “Please let me do this for you. I can’t- … I couldn’t go on without you, without knowing that you’ll be there with me when we finally win.”

With a quiet sigh, Jack leaned forward, resting his forehead against their clasped hands. He felt the smooth warmth of his wedding ring on Gabriel’s finger, and a rough, calloused thumb stroking gently along his cheekbone.

Overhead, a loud, blaring sound announced the end of visitation hour.

“Okay,” he said, the words caught safely between them. “Okay. Gabe, just promise me- …”

He felt Gabriel pull his hands back, feeling the severe loss of warmth and comfort like a slap. When he looked up, there he was, standing, pulling him into a desperate, clinging hug.

“I miss you so much,” Gabriel said. “I miss you so much, I’ll always come back. Nothing can stop me from coming back. Not even you, you stubborn old mule.”

Jack laughed helplessly, cocooned in Gabriel’s embrace, held by his strong arms.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. You’re the unstoppable force to my immovable object, remember?”

“Of course I remember, old man. Don’t do anything stupid until I see you again, okay?”

They parted a little for a sweet, chaste kiss, and then Jack stepped out of the comforting heat of Gabriel’s embrace. Gabriel produced wire rimmed glasses from nowhere and perched them precariously on his nose. On top of that, he put on a black Fedora. With a wink, he was gone, leaving Jack cold and lonely.

A guard sternly reminded him to return to his cell. He went without complaint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :3 Comment and tell me what you thought, I love hearing from you!


	4. Unfriendly Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Interpol agent questions Jack, and someone is listening in.

>alert code: 76; timestamp: 09:13am; location: USDB; action required

<run: sesame.exe

>Welcome to the United States Disciplinary Barracks network, S0mbr4

<query: trigger alert code: 76

>visitor for 16B958A; filename: JOHN “JACK” MORRISON

<run: sonorus.exe

<save file to: JJM.log1.mp4

*

PERSON 1, ID: BROOKS, NICHOLAS DAVID, DESIGNATION: AGENT (INTERPOL): Good morning, Mr. Morrison. Please, have a seat. ( _quietly_ ) Thank you, we don’t need him in shackles.

PERSON 2: ID: MORRISON, JACK JOHN, DESIGNATION: INMATE (USDB): Who are you?

BROOKS: Ah, apologies. My name is Nick Brooks, and I am an agent with Interpol.

MORRISON: May I see your badge please.

BROOKS: Of course. ( _shuffling_ ) Here.

MORRISON: Alright. To what do I owe the pleasure?

BROOKS: I believe you may be able to help me with an ongoing investigation – two, in fact.

MORRISON: ( _chuckling_ ) Do I need a lawyer?

BROOKS: I would advise against that, seeing that your previous one was killed in his sleep.

MORRISON: Oh, is this what you came here for? Did you finally apprehend the murderer? Gérard Lacroix was more than just my lawyer – he was a close friend. I would appreciate having closure.

BROOKS: I’m afraid that isn’t the purpose of my visit here, Mr. Morrison. In fact, Mr. Lacroix wasn’t just your friend, he was also the friend of former Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes, was he not?

MORRISON: I don’t see what that has to do with you accosting me here in prison, Agent Brooks.

BROOKS: Alright. Let me rephrase this. It has been over three years now since your trial, as I am sure you are aware. For even longer than that, however, the previously mentioned Commander Reyes has been a fugitive from the law. There are similar charges of war crimes brought against him, but so far he has evaded justice.

MORRISON: I still don’t see why you would bring up my dear, departed friend Gérard.

BROOKS: Patience, Mr. Morrison. My reasons are twofold: firstly, we have intelligence suggesting that ex-Commander Reyes is currently harboring the suspected murder of Mr. Lacroix, his wife Amélie. Secondly, if you and Mr. Lacroix were such close friends, and your friendship with Mr. Reyes is a matter of public record, does it not stand to reason that Mr. Lacroix and the fugitive were also close?

MORRISON: That’s your theory, and I will neither deny nor confirm it.

BROOKS: Well, no matter. I am primarily here to discuss with you the whereabouts of Gabriel Reyes.

MORRISON: What gives you the impression that I know how to find a man that I have not seen for over three years, as you say?

BROOKS: Ah, but that’s the beauty of my argument, Mr. Morrison. If you, Mr. Lacroix, and Mr. Reyes were all such close friends, it would not surprise me if you entrusted him with a very important secret.

MORRISON: The suspense is killing me.

BROOKS: It has taken me quite some time and effort, digging in the right places and asking questions at the right time, to acquire this document right here. ( _rustling_ ) But now I have proof that Gérard Lacroix, as your lawyer, your friend, and with the power vested in him officiated your marriage to Gabriel Reyes – the very fugitive I am tasked with bringing in. And _that_ is why I think you can help me.

MORRISON: Just to clarify. You think I know where Gabriel is … because you found a document that claims that he and I are married?

BROOKS: You can help me bring a war criminal to justice, and perhaps even the murderer of your friend. Find the closure you mentioned. And all this by answering a simple question: Where is Gabriel Reyes?

MORRISON: I don’t know how you came by this document, when it is clearly a forgery. We were both public figures, and I doubt something like that would have stayed secret for very long.

BROOKS: And yet that’s what the world thought about Blackwatch.

MORRISON: ( _pause_ ) Alright. Just to humor you; even if I was married to Gabriel- … _Especially_ if I was married to Gabriel. Why on Earth would I betray the man I loved enough to marry? If there was one person in the world that I cherished enough to bind myself to for the rest of my life, that I swore fidelity and fealty to … And you presume that I would give them up? For what?

BROOKS: A deal. You get twenty-five years instead of lifelong, maybe less for good behavior.

MORRISON: Your no doubt illegally obtained forgery is no grounds for a deal like that. In fact, I am offended. You must think me a very shallow, selfish and weak man to offer me this deal at all.

BROOKS: Even if this deal extends to your husband?

MORRISON: Since the deal is clearly make-believe? No deal.

BROOKS: I am disappointed. I once thought very highly of you, Mr. Morrison. I am of a generation that still remembers the aftermath of the Crisis, and I grew up believing you were a hero.

MORRISON: Ah, so we are resorting to bad-mouthing me now. Go on, I’ve heard it all before. Childhood idealization, then the cold shock of reality, and disillusionment. It’s a good, solid story, but I’m not buying it. Not when one friend’s life and another friend’s peaceful rest are on the line.

BROOKS: I may have been disillusioned with real life heroes, but I thought it was very brave of you to face justice, and admit to your mistakes and wrongdoings. You are in here, in this prison, speaking to me, because of your sense of integrity. I can admire that. I am counting on that, in fact. Because, friend or not, Gabriel Reyes has committed the same crimes as you, but he is walking free, possibly even incriminating himself further. Where is the justice in that?

MORRISON: If Gabriel truly is facing the same charges as me, why, in his case, is there a real possibility of him being charged with the death sentence?

BROOKS: I’m not a judge, nor am I a lawyer but- …

MORRISON: ( _louder, simultaneously_ ) So I am asking you in return: Where is the justice in that?

BROOKS: ( _sigh_ ) It is not my place to decide a verdict, or a defendant’s sentence. I only know that it is my job to make sure that people reach the court of law at all, and don’t evade their due.

MORRISON: ( _quieter_ ) And I can respect that. But you said you admire my sense of integrity. Then please. Don’t ask me to betray my friend. A man whom I have known for over thirty years. Regardless of any documents, of marriage or not, our bond reaches deeper than that of family or blood. And though you have to do what you have to do … This is something that I must insist on as well.

BROOKS: ( _long pause_ ) So you do know where he is.

MORRISON: I never said that.

BROOKS: It is implied. Even if you don’t tell me now, I will find out. I already found out about the wedding, and I will find out where he is hiding. I will bring him in.

MORRISON: Good luck. You’ll need it.

BROOKS: You too. If you do not take this deal now, it is off the table for good.

MORRISON: I appreciate the warning, but I don’t give a fuck. You know, the USDB has actually kind of grown on me.

BROOKS: It’s sad to see a man of your stature fall to such depths.

MORRISON: Emotional manipulation won’t work on me. Kudos for trying though.

BROOKS: Alright. I think we’re done here. ( _louder_ ) Guards!

( _metal clanging, shuffling)_

BROOKS: Just remember that I tried to help you, Mr. Morrison.

MORRISON: That’s sir to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another one of those experimental format chapters, so I'd really like to hear what you guys thought about this! (And I couldn't help quoting that one grumpy 76 voiceline lol)


	5. Virtual Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a new friend, Jack gets a caller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I THOUGHT I POSTED THIS AGES AGO I'M SO SORRY YOU GUYS
> 
> As compensation, I've already finished the next chapter, how about I post this in exactly one week which is May 6 instead of in three months like my usual schedule. Bc the chapter after that is almost done already too!
> 
> Sorry again, I hope you'll enjoy this :DD

Apparently even prisons had to go with the times and adjust to technological advancements, or so it seemed. For the few weeks that the visitation rooms were under construction, the inmates were in a tizzy. A majority of them had high hopes that conjugal visits would soon be allowed, but Jack knew that was very unlikely. So he watched on, shaking his head in exasperation, though mostly disinterested in the entire thing.

The upgrade was not a conjugal visitation room. It was a room with holostation booths, allowing for what amounted to phone calls, except with a holographic videoconference function.

At first, Jack didn’t care about this too much. The only one who had visited him so far was Gabriel, and he doubted that wherever he was, he would even find out that this was an option. Plus, he would rather get the opportunity to touch and feel Gabriel, real and in the flesh.

But then of course, one day Jack was called into the holographic visitation room. At first he was confused, thinking that perhaps someone else was trying to get in touch with him. Another interview, perhaps, but with less of a hassle involved for the reporter. Or, his heart hammered anxiously at the thought, someone from his old life. Someone with Overwatch, new or old.

“How do I do this?” Jack asked as he sat down in the booth indicated to him.

“Just hit ‘accept’ and the call will connect.”

“Okay,” he muttered, skeptical.

He suddenly felt very old. He’d grown up with actual touchscreens, even physical keyboards. Then came the hardlight technology, and though it was much smoother and intuitive, it still felt physical. Holographics had only really been in semi-regular use for a couple of years before he- … Either way, he had not been in contact with the technology much before being imprisoned in the USDB. So when he hesitatingly poked his finger at the hovering, red rectangle saying ‘ACCEPT’, he hoped he was doing it right.

Apparently, he did.

“Gabriel?” he said, eyes widening.

“Jack? You sound surprised. Did you expect your other beau?”

Jack snorted.

“No, they just didn’t tell me it was you calling. Also, I’ve never used one of these things before, so if I accidentally hang up on you, it’s your fault. What, are you too busy to haul your ass stateside?”

He saw Gabriel, half-transparent and with a decidedly bluish sheen to his complexion, roll his eyes so hard he almost expected them to fall out of their sockets.

“Look, I called in a favor from someone I’m not sure I trust yet, so you better be grateful I’m calling at all, okay?”

“If you don’t trust them, I hope you didn’t tell them who I- …”

“Do I look stupid, babe?”

“No,” Jack grumbled, feeling both chastised and annoyed. Of course he didn’t think Gabriel was stupid, he thought the world of him. “I’m just saying- …”

“Stop it, you worrywart, it was a favor for a favor, which means I didn’t have to tell her more than strictly necessary. She can’t even trace my call back to you, the prison is keeping these anonymous, so unbunch your panties.”

“She? Do I need to be jealous?”

“Because of my gay ass? Please. Plus, she’s young enough to be our daughter.”

“ _Our_ daughter? I didn’t agree to adopt!” Jack mock-complained, feeling a grin tug at his lips as they both fell into the familiar rhythm of their banter.

“Jack, stop nitpicking my words. I actually have an update, so stop wasting precious time and let me speak. It’ll explain everything, I promise,” Gabriel said. “So, the good news is, we didn’t fight the new Overwatch kids again. And the bad news is, I botched another mission, regardless of their non-involvement.”

“Damn, what happened?”

“Well, that’s the thing, me botching my part in the mission was the favor that got me this holocall with you,” Gabriel continued, impatiently. “Talon hired this girl, and they’re looking to recruit her. She calls herself Sombra. World-renowned hacker. Our target was Katya Volskaya, and Volskaya Industries as a whole. Talon wanted us to assassinate the Chairwoman, probably to weaken Russia’s defense with regards to the omnic activities brewing in Siberia, I don’t know. Either way, we botched the assassination.”

“And how was that a favor to … Sombra? If this was supposed to be her initiation into Talon- …”

“I’m not sure if it really was. She has ties to Los Muertos – that anti-omnic gang in Mexico. Yeah, that one, don’t pretend I didn’t see your frown. Talon was always interested in keeping Los Muertos active in and around Dorado because of LumériCo, remember when we suspected their involvement? Anyway,” Gabriel sighed, “it looks like Sombra’s motives are more complex. Yes, she wants to join Talon, but it seems to me that not only did she sniff out my … dual interests, but she herself also apparently wants to use Talon’s resources for her own ends.”

Jack perked up, pulse hammering in his ears.

“Does she know who you are?”

Gabriel grimaced, shrugging.

“I’m not so sure. I think she knows, but will keep it secret for now. Like I told you, she’s a world-renowned hacker. She can find out anything. I don’t know how, but she can.”

“That’s dangerous. If you can’t trust her …”

“I’m just seeing where this goes, honestly. She might be a very valuable asset. Her skillset is extraordinary. Knows her way around a gun, too.”

“Okay,” Jack sighed. “If you’re sure. Just be careful, like always.”

“Will do, baby, don’t worry. I just … wanted to tell you about this. If you’re not seriously objecting, I’ll go ahead with this slight change of plans. Is that okay with you?”

“Like I said, as long as you think you aren’t compromised, your cover is intact, and you are in no direct danger- …”

“Alright.” Gabriel nodded on the other side. Just on the edge of the projection, Jack could see the motion of his arms. He was fidgeting again. “So how have you been, Jack? Things are good on your end?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Jack shrugged.

“Okay. That’s not what I asked though.”

“Dammit,” Jack grumbled. “I knew calling you out on your evasive bullshit would have consequences one day.”

“Are you kidding me, I’ve been calling you out since you set foot in the SEP, back when you barely had hair on your chest.”

“Fair enough. Not the hair bit, you know that’s not true.”

“ _Jack_.”

“What?” He rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. What do you want to know about the exciting and fabulous time I am having here?”

Gabriel’s holographic shape shrugged.

“Anything. Interesting, boring, show me what you got.”

Jack drew a blank. For a few seconds he sat there, blinking, trying to think of something, anything at all that he could tell Gabriel. He thought back on the last couple of days, and the things he’d done. And the most troubling thing was that he had difficulties remembering.

“The days just kind of blend into each other,” he started saying. “I can barely tell whether it was yesterday or last week Campbell tripped up Knox, nearly causing a riot. That was one of the most exciting things that happened lately. I could have used a good, proper fistfight, to be honest.”

“Not enough punching bags for your taste?”

“They don’t hold up to enhanced strength I’m afraid.”

“Alright. So what do you do all day? And don’t tell me ‘I hit the gym’.”

“I hit the gym.”

“Jack!”

“Well, it’s true. Okay, it’s not all I do. I eat, and sleep, and- …”

“Please, Jack, tell me you’re not being antisocial over there.”

“I’m not, I swear. I’ve got some guys I eat with, and there are regulars at the gym that I interact with. Plus I’ve got my shifts doing the laundry, earning my keep. We even have memes about socks.”

“Has anyone else visited you besides me?”

Jack rubbed his neck.

“No. Well, there was this interview I did for Atlas News.”

“Oh. That’s it?”

“Yeah.” Jack scrunched up his nose. “Honestly, I’m glad. I wouldn’t know what to say if one of our former colleagues came to visit. They’d probably pity me, or hate me. Which isn’t any fun, either way.”

Gabriel, on the other end, frowned.

“They weren’t all just our _colleagues_ , Jack. What about Christmas cards? I think Reinhardt and Torbjörn even sent one to one of my old safehouses. I got it in March, but it’s the thought that counts, I suppose.”

Jack sighed. He couldn’t help but feel a bit put-upon, hearing this. Betrayed, even. He always loved the cheesy poems Reinhardt used to send each and every one of them over the holidays. And Torbjörn always let his youngest decorate the envelopes with stickers, until almost every surface was covered. It was such a sweet and heartwarming gesture, and it had become a part of their Christmas tradition.

“No, I didn’t get any cards either,” he admitted, trying not to sound too grumpy about it.

Gabriel’s face fell.

“What about Angela? You could write her. I’m sure she has a lot to- …”

“I doubt she would ever want to talk to me again,” Jack cut in sharply.

“Oh.” Gabriel fidgeted, and Jack could all but see the gears turning inside his head. “I can send you postcards from now on. Keep you looking forward to something. I mean, you won’t be able to answer, but- …”

“Gabe,” he interrupted him again, suddenly feeling very tired. “Sweetheart. I am so grateful for your visits already, and it’s lovely you called me today, but it’s dangerous. I can’t ask this of you. Besides, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you though?” Gabriel muttered, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. It was a serious face, but for some reason it made Jack laugh, which only made Gabriel frown harder.

“I am. Promise.”

“Pinky promise,” Gabriel demanded, pouting.

“That doesn’t work over the holo, baby.”

“ _Jack_.”

“Alright, alright.” He held up his hand, pinky outstretched. “Pinky promise. I’m fine.”

He saw it in the glint of Gabriel’s eyes, even though hundreds if not thousand miles, a shitty holographic transmission and cheap prison technology, that he didn’t believe him. He could read Gabriel perfectly, a skill honed by decades of companionship and love. Of course, this worked the other way as well. Jack was an open book to Gabriel. Lying was pointless.

The difference between them was that Jack always prodded at Gabriel, until he spilled the truth, knowing it would otherwise eat at him. And Gabriel was kind enough to let Jack continue to lie to himself, and derive comfort from knowing that Gabriel knew anyway.

“I think my call’s about to end,” Gabriel said, voice carefully smooth, even as his eyes expressed his sorrow and care. “Sombra is telling me she can’t conceal our location for much longer.”

“Not just yet. Just- … A few more minutes.”

“Okay. Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

Jack looked down, at his clasped hands sitting atop his knees. Here he was, with the opportunity to steal minutes of time to speak with his husband. He had missed him, every day, every night, not just since the last time they talked, but since … before all of this. Before the trial. Before Overwatch, even.

“Do you sometimes wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t joined Overwatch?” he asked. “Or what if we retired afterwards, after we saved the world. Or if that one time you asked me, what if I’d just thrown in the towel. Said I’m not gonna do it anymore, we’ve done enough, let’s go home. Let’s get a damn house, and a dog for me and a cat for you, and just … live.”

Jack bit his lip, afraid to look up and see Gabriel’s expression. He was disappointed in himself, for having such useless, cowardly thoughts. He was afraid to think this was him giving in to weakness, while he knew he didn’t have it the worst. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t being fair.

“Jack, baby, look at me.”

He shook his head, curling in on himself further. His teeth slipped, and his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood.

“I know there’s no use dwelling on these things,” he mumbled, licking his lips. “I know we did good. We helped people, we did. But I’m tired, Gabe. I’m tired, and I want to go _home_.”

“Sweetheart- …”

“But we don’t have a home, do we. We have nothing to return to once it’s done – except each other. And … you’re out there, fighting, shedding tears and blood. And I’m in here withering and crumbling.”

“Darling- …”

“What if I lose you? What if you fall and never come back? I’ll have to return to a grave. Because we were arrogant and stupid, thinking we were invulnerable, immortal. _Heroes_. Well, we’re not. We’re people. And we forgot that people need to live lives.”

“Jack. Look at me.”

He sighed, finally complying. Though tinged blue, he was met with a familiar expression, one of love and warmth. It nearly broke his heart to see Gabriel still so strong, knowing that he himself had yielded and given in to the doubts in his mind. To see that Gabriel was still here, lending his strength to him.

“Jack,” he repeated, calmly and gently. “I promised to you that I will get you out of that prison. I promised I’d free you, and with that, I promise that there will be a home waiting for you. For us. A house, a dog and a cat, if you want. There will be a bed where I am going to make love to you, and we are going to eat breakfast in that I cooked because I don’t trust you with my eggs and bacon. There will be a couch where we’ll watch old time movies on a screen, and listen to your old time music, and cuddle, and read, and fall asleep like the old men we are. There will be a porch where you can go out and smoke, because you’re damn well not going to do it inside. There will be a garden, and I’m going to make you mow it, but only because I’ll plant some flowers and we’ll watch them bloom every year.

“I am going to get you out of there, and into a place where we’ll both be happy to grow old together, because damn if we don’t deserve it.”

Jack sniffled and covered his face, embarrassed by the ugly, snotty tears that were flowing freely down his cheeks. It was too much. Gabriel was too much. The image he painted with his words was so painfully wonderful, Jack felt like he was about to burst with longing and happiness.

“You old sap,” he choked out between sobs.

“And you love it.”

“Yes I do.”

He turned away a bit to wipe his face with his sleeve at least a bit, but he knew he probably looked like a pufferfish anyway. Gabriel never teased him about it though, knowing that, though it was rare for Jack, once he cried, it contained the accumulated stress, sadness and anxiety of probably several years.

“Look,” Gabriel said, “I know it’s been hard. I’m not going to lie. It’s been hard for me too. But I know it will all be worth it in the end, because you will be there waiting for me. For years you have cared for me, covered for me, saved my ass from more fires than I probably know. It’s my turn now, okay? I call dibs on foot and back rubs from you though. For the rest of our lives. That’s the only payment I need.”

Jack chuckled wetly, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah okay, I can do that. You realize you’re getting scammed though, right? Because I would have provided those massages either way.”

Gabriel mock-gasped, wagging a finger at him.

“You scoundrel, you’re lucky there is a small, Hispanic girl shouting at me to stop being sappy at you, or I’d get you back for that.”

“Next time maybe.”

“Yeah. Next time. Hopefully in person, because I really want to hug you right now.”

Jack smiled a bit, shrugging at Gabriel’s holographic likeness.

“Soon,” he lied. Because he wanted to see Gabriel, to touch him. But he hated that it put him in danger. And it usually meant that something had happened. So even though he wanted to see him, with all his heart and soul, he also didn’t want to see him.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Gabriel replied. “Be good, okay?”

“Sure. Bye, Gabe.”

“Bye.”

As soon as Gabriel’s holographic likeness flickered out, plunging Jack into relative darkness, he slumped in his seat. That had been harder than he thought, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about anything. This … Sombra. What was her agenda? Was Gabriel safe, working with her? How much exactly did she know? He was unsettled at how little control he had about the mission, and Gabriel’s safety. They had deviated from their set plans so much already, by now they were winging it more than Jack liked to admit. And he didn’t like that Gabriel knew how close Jack was to breaking in here. It put unnecessary stress on him, endangering him further.

Jack could do nothing to help Gabriel, he had already known that. On top of that, however, this had shown him once more that he was not just useless, but an active liability. A hindrance. A burden. If he wasn’t careful, he could become Gabriel’s downfall. So he needed to suck it up and power through. Be strong. Stronger. For Gabriel.

When the guard came to pick him up, Jack kept his back straight, eyes forward. The last months had been hard on him – the routine, the boredom. He had to stay on top of his game, though. He couldn’t just let himself go, because Gabriel depended on him. It would be devastating if something were to happen to him. So he needed to improve. Mentally, as well as physically.

He had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)


	6. Questionable Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Joel Morricone” visits Jack in prison for another “interview” for Atlas News.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter that should have gone up last week, but because I fudged the upload of the previous chapter, instead you're getting 2 chapters in 1 week! What a bargain!  
> Because of this, I can't promise that the next chapter will be up just as fast xD I'd give it a month, thereabouts? Thanks for your understanding.
> 
> Enjoy!

Over the din of the visitation room, voices calling out and laughing and shouting, Jack could barely hear his own thoughts. Gears turned in his head, making connections that hadn’t been used in years. The shock of it nearly made him stumble as he sat down on his chair.

“My God.”

“Ah, Mr. Morrison, sir. My name is Joel Morricone, and I’m with Atlas News. I am here to get a quote from you on the topic of vigilantism, as I’ll be writing an article about- …”

Jack, finally having recovered from the shock of seeing Jesse McCree sitting on the other side of the interview table, dressed up with a fake moustache, a wig and glasses, held up a hand to interrupt him.

“Let me stop you right there, son,” he said, barely containing his laughter.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Morrison, sir?”

“Christ, stop it. Ask your question, get it over with, and then tell me why you’re really here. And _please_ get rid of that animal covering your face.”

“Can’t.” McCree cautiously rubbed his chin and offered a sheepish grin. “It’s glued to the actual beard underneath. Don’t want to give myself an accidental waxing.”

“Alright, but please, get to the point. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here? There is a bounty on your head. They might as well just keep you here.”

“I ain’t eligible for a military prison, but still. Appreciate the concern, boss.”

“Not your boss either. Not that I ever was.”

McCree smirked, clicking his pen.

“Honorary boss, then. And as to why I am here, I really am tasked with getting a quote from you. But aside from that, I took the assignment because I’ve got some news. Plus I’d been wanting to talk to you for a while now.”

“Shoot.” Jack settled in his chair, intrigued. McCree, basically having grown up in Deadlock and then Blackwatch, had a peculiar kind of intelligence about him. As brash and loud as he was, he never took an unnecessary risk; or if he did, he went about it smartly. So what could have compelled him to seek out Jack in prison?

“Look.” He rubbed his chin again, cautious of the fake facial hair. “I know we never were on the best of terms, you and me. You thought I was a risk Reyes shouldn’t have taken, and as grateful as I am, I agree. Things could have gone belly-up real fast, had I been a bad apple.”

“It wasn’t personal, you know.”

“Yeah, I do. I know your loyalty to was to Reyes first, and second to anyone else. I’m hoping that it still is, because I have information that might be … helpful.”

Jack tried not to let any of his conflicting emotions show on his face. Whatever McCree thought he knew, about Jack and Gabriel, about their mission, about the fall of Overwatch – this could make or break everything.

“What do you know?”

“Well first of all, I am operating under the assumption that Reyes is still out there, doing the things he does,” he said, grinning lopsidedly. “I’m also deeply aware that you took the fall for him. You were never aware of how little control Reyes had over Blackwatch at times. Some of the things they accused you of we did do, and some we didn’t. And yet you let yourself be crucified, drawing the attention away from us and martyring Overwatch. The only reason why you would do that is if our mission wasn’t done yet. The only mission that only a select few even within Blackwatch knew about. And I’m thinking that Reyes is out there finishing what we started.”

Crossing his arms, Jack nodded, feeling a warm surge of pride at Gabriel’s protégé. He’d seen the overarching pattern and seen right through it. Knowing both him and Gabriel, he had realized their motives … And he was here now. To help.

“So what is it that you’ve discovered,” Jack said, basically confirming that everything McCree had said was true.

“That’s kind of a long story. Since I left Blackwatch – officially against Reyes’ wishes, but unofficially with his full approval – I’ve been sniffing out certain leads. At first I reported back to him, hoping that Blackwatch’s resources could be put towards following these leads, but after the fall … Well, let’s just say I’ve kept to myself mostly. But lately, I have had people making inquiries. Checking in on old dead drops. Saying codewords and asking the right questions. So I looked into it.”

“And what did you find?” Jack asked, intrigued.

“I found a name. The Shrike.”

“The Shrike?” Jack leaned back, crossing his arms. “Never heard of them. Who are they?”

“A bounty hunter, sort of like me. Emerged before the fall of Overwatch, but kept mostly silent until recently. They …” McCree’s eyes shifted left and right, as if to make sure no one was overhearing them. The people on neighboring visitation tables were all raucously engaged with their own visitors, but that might not mean much. Still, McCree continued: “They are operating out of Giza, Egypt. A message reached me, requesting a face to face.”

“The suspense is killing me.”

McCree gave him a lopsided grin.

“It should. Because you’ll never guess who the Shrike is.”

“Just tell me, Jesse.”

His disappointed moue hid a wide smile.

“She did always say that old soldiers are hard to kill, but it never occurred to me to take that literally, you know.”

Jack stared, the words echoing in his head. He heard that before, many, many times. A familiar, beloved voice spoke them to him, consolingly, jokingly, smugly. The voice conjured an image of a hawk nose above a perpetual curved smile. Warm, brown eyes full of wisdom and sympathy.

“ _Ana_ ,” he gasped, gripping the edge of the table. “My God, she’s alive?”

“Sure is. Minus one eye, but that doesn’t deter her. Still the best shot I’ve ever seen, and with a humor darker than her tea.”

“She’s alive,” Jack whispered, feeling tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He didn’t care. _Ana was alive_. She wasn’t dead. He hadn’t left her behind, to die alone on the battlefield. He hadn’t abandoned her, hadn’t lost her. The pain of her loss, years old and still fresh like a bullet wound, ripped open again and blurred the sight of McCree’s worried face.

“She’s saying you’re an idiot, you know. Told me to check in on you and make sure you hadn’t choked on prison food yet.”

He laughed at that, hearing how hollow and crazed it sounded.

“She was alive this entire time. Why? Why didn’t she come back sooner? Why come back now?”

“Beats me. I don’t ask that woman too many questions. All I know is she’s worried. I don’t think she’d have broken her cover for no reason. And she didn’t send me here for mere sentimentality neither. She wants you to know she’s alive, and that I’m working with her,” McCree said thoughtfully. “With Reyes out there carrying on the mission too, that’s a lot of pieces moving. You heard about the Recall?”

“Yes. Can’t say that I approve.”

“I know Lena answered the call for sure, but I doubt many more will. Too risky. Many have been burned by the limelight after the fall.” McCree gestured at Jack with his chin. “You’re not the only one who was branded.”

Jack rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of this mess. _Ana was alive_. Talon … Widowmaker hadn’t killed her. That was one less death on Jack’s consciousness, but the question remained: why? What had happened to make her disappear? Why did she let them believe she was dead? He couldn’t help but feel slightly betrayed. Abandoned. What would the last months and days of Overwatch have looked like with her there to smooth things over? The what ifs kept stacking up until Jack’s brain started to protest and he feared it might explode.

“Ana always kept a pragmatic bird’s eye view of the situation,” he said after a while, appreciating that McCree had let him work through his thoughts in silence. “She obviously wants you to be the middle man. By contacting me, she is in fact reaching out to Gabe. Maybe she can help him? Maybe she knows something.”

“All I know,” McCree chimed in, “is that there are rumblings surrounding the Anubis AI. Helix Security is looking shaky, and in case you didn’t know, Fareeha is involved in that. Ana is obviously keeping an eye on that situation. But I don’t know how that connects with Reyes and the mission.”

Jack sighed, shaking his head.

“We are so close to getting names. Numbers. Locations. Actual results. I don’t want to put that in jeopardy by bringing in more people. Tell Ana to keep her distance. I won’t begrudge her guarding over Fareeha, but she should stay away from the mission. Gabe can handle himself.”

“Sure. I’ll pass it on. Can’t promise anything though,” McCree said cheekily.

“Of course. Ana does as Ana wills.”

They both laughed, a moment of shared memories and camaraderie rising up between them. McCree was right; while Jack had never actively avoided or treated him badly back in the heyday, they’d certainly never been friends.

Though McCree had been in and out of Overwatch as much as he was part of Blackwatch, Jack had made sure to keep a stern eye on him. On any of the recruits in Blackwatch, really, though for differing reasons. McCree had been a liability – not for his background, or any perceived lack of skill, but because Jack knew Gabriel cared about the kid. He was a weak point, just like Jack was. It made Jack wary. Trying to watch Gabriel’s blind spot for him. And it alienated him from McCree.

Speaking to him now, Jack was just glad that Gabriel could still count on this man’s loyalty. Just this once, he was more than glad to have been wrong.

“You came here today for another reason, though,” he said after both their laughter tapered off.

“Right! The bread-winning day job as an independent correspondent for Atlas News.”

“How did you get that job anyway? Did you forge your credentials?” Jack asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, I did have to falsify my identification, but otherwise, I’ve actually racked up a portfolio of my own, and I did some courses. Nothing fancy, but enough to get this gig, apparently,” McCree modestly replied.

Impressed, Jack leaned forward.

“That is remarkable. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

McCree waved a hand. Was he blushing?

“Like I said, it’s not much. But, uh, well, I was asked to get a quote from you,” he quickly changed the topic. He really was blushing, visibly so, even under his fake beard. But then he shifted in his seat, suddenly the epitome of professionalism. Out of nowhere, he had conjured a hardlight tablet, supposedly to take notes with. “There have been reports of civilians stepping in during robberies and such, and the police is labelling this sort of activity as vigilantism. Some people even call them heroes. Also, it is uncomfortably close to the loose definition of ‘Overwatch activity’ that is still banned under the Petras act. What are your thoughts on that? Would you urge those individuals to stop? Or do you encourage it?”

Jack hummed and rubbed his chin, feeling the short stubble there rasping against his calloused palm. These topics were and always had been difficult to navigate, especially back when he had been the Strike Commander of Overwatch. Some people thought justified in doling out their own punishment, thinking this is what Overwatch did. Others felt that Overwatch and the government weren’t doing enough, so they had to take things into their own hands. Jack sympathized. But the answer was not so easy.

“It depends,” he replied after a while. “I don’t encourage it. Vigilante justice is illegal, and dangerous, for anyone involved. The smartest choice when faced with a violent situation is to get to safety and call the authorities. Now, I know that those authorities are not always helpful. They can be corrupt, or underfunded. But even in those cases, they are better equipped to handle the situation. Stepping in to stop a robbery? A gunfight? I admire the civil courage, but it could have backfired. The situation could have de-escalated, causing even more casualties, injuries and property damage. Especially if then, after stopping the robbery, justice was doled out at the hands of civilians. Again, the justice system might not be operating properly, and perhaps people get away with crimes they shouldn’t – that doesn’t excuse taking justice into one’s own hands.

“Talking about heroes is an entirely different thing. It is dangerous, for one. There are no heroes. We don’t live in comic books. And yes, while it may seem like some individuals possess ‘powers’, they are still human. Looking up to others as if they were not, that is dangerous. I believe it is part of why Overwatch eventually fell from grace. People had expectations of us that we could never hope to meet.

“If you look at it this way: Overwatch was a peacekeeping organization, nothing more and nothing less. We were the ones to step in where governments could not, for whatever reason. We were authorized and equipped to handle volatile situations. But after we, to keep with the example, stopped the robbery? Our job was done. The rest was up to other people to decide.”

McCree let out a small sound, and Jack grimaced.

“In an ideal world, that is. As the public now knows, sometimes we stepped in where we weren’t wanted, such as during the King’s Row Uprising. And sometimes … missions ended in a preemptive punishment of the culprit. That’s because you never know what will happen during an armed conflict. Sometimes the perpetrator dies. Sometimes the ‘good guys’ die. Better to let people paid and trained to do their job do it than innocent bystanders.”

McCree nodded and put away his hardlight tablet.

“Thank you, Mr. Morrison, I’m sure I can use some of that for my article.” He paused. “You made some interesting points.”

Jack laughed.

“You can say you were surprised I retroactively condoned Gabe’s handling of the Venice Incident.”

“Well, if I remember correctly, there was a lot of shouting involved back in the day.”

“It was never about shooting Antonio,” Jack clarified gently. “I was angry because he hadn’t told me about Moira and the depth of her … involvement.”

McCree was the blank canvas of a man who just had a revelation. His mouth opened and closed like a stranded fish, and there were a thousand questions reflected in his eyes.

“That … makes a lot of sense, actually,” he said eventually.

Jack chuckled bashfully, rubbing his neck.

“Look, Gabe and I, we played up a lot of our conflicts. Not just for the public, but for our own people too. We wanted to see who would try to exploit this perceived weakness. We didn’t want people looking too closely. I’m aware that might have caused … a rift among our agents. Animosity towards me or Gabe. But just like the disbanding of Overwatch, it was a price we thought worth paying. For the continuation of the mission.”

On the other side of the table, McCree had leaned back in his chair, still a distant look in his eyes, but he nodded thoughtfully, clearly processing.

“This changes some things,” he admitted. “But not the important parts. I am glad I came to talk to you, though.”

“Ana always knows what’s best,” Jack said.

McCree assented sagely.

“Amen to that.”

*

Two weeks later, Jack sat at ‘his’ table, some of his inmates discussing their favorite chewing gum flavors around him, when he came upon an Atlas News article. The author was none other than ‘Joel Morricone’. Seeing it startled a guffaw of laughter out of him.

“What’s so funny, Morrison?” asked the person right next to him, a guy called Nate. He leaned over Jack’s shoulder, reading the article. “Oh man, that vigilante bullshit.”

This sparked an entirely new conversation, this time thankfully not about spearmint, cherry or strawberry flavored chewing gum, but about vigilantism instead. Jack only listened with half an ear as he skimmed the article.

“… this guy, Lúcio? Have you heard his music, he’s an amazing DJ, but he also fights for human and omnic rights in Rio de Janeiro.”

The article wasn’t half bad. Actually, Jack thought it was brilliant. Sure, it was not Pulitzer worthy or anything, but it was well-written, and thoughtful. In fact, he almost had the feeling that McCree had dumbed it down a little, so as to not attract too much attention.

“Sure, but it’s dangerous to go up against a corporation like Vishkar, just think about …”

There were some other quotes McCree had used, aside from Jack’s cautious words; one from former Overwatch Director Petras himself, and one from the owner of a ramen noodle shop in Hanamura that had apparently been saved by some … gun slinging outsider? Jack snorted. Typical McCree.

He was glad the kid had visited him though. And his cover story was solid, too. Perhaps they could talk again. And maybe he could establish contact with Ana on the outside. It might be good to have her watchful eye on their side again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, if you liked it please leave a comment :)


	7. Nighttime Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightly visitor drops by Jack's cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am running out of canon material to cover ... But since I don't want to hamper myself, I might leave this open ended after a couple more chapters, and continue with the post-canon shenanigans in a second work. Keep an eye out for that, and maybe subscribe to the series once I add it so you don't miss anything.

The first few weeks imprisoned at the USDB had been nightmarish in every sense of the word. He was unable to sleep for even a minute for the first few days, and then only managed to get some shuteye because he technically fell unconscious due to sleep deprivation.

It was the noise, mostly. It was hard to believe what a ruckus a few dozen men could make during the REM phase of their sleep. The snoring was just one thing. The pained grunts and strangled screams were another.

The first night Jack fell asleep naturally, he promptly had nightmares of the kind he thought he’d long since processed. Eradicators stepping on his unresponsive body. Being riddled by bullets, the eerie whistling of a Bastion unit surrounding him. The cold, mechanical voice of an omnium, counting down until it was going to self-destruct. The frantic kind of panic that gripped him so hard that even when he inevitably woke up, he was paralyzed.

After a while, the nightmares slowed in frequency, mellowed in their intensity, until they stopped altogether, and Jack got used to the noise.

Still, he considered himself a light sleeper. It was too ingrained in his core being to be vigilant at all times. Even asleep, he was aware of his surroundings. He could register the slightest shift of air pressure or temperature, and react accordingly.

Which was how he ended up straddling a shadowy figure on the floor next to his cot, restraining it with his weight before he even realized that something woke him up.

“Holy shit, Jack, calm down!” the figure hissed, wiggling a bit. “It’s me, you idiot.”

“What?” he blurted out dumbly. “Gabe? What are you doing here? How did you- …?

“I wraithed inside,” Gabriel replied, in a tone of voice that implied the _duh_ tacked on at the end of the sentence.

It was only then that Jack noticed Gabriel’s getup – the bone mask, the shotgun shells, the leather hood and cape. He hated dispersing into a nano-cloud, though it was a trademark ability of the Reaper, the role he was impersonating in order to infiltrate the  Talon leadership. But he wasn’t here as the Reaper, which meant …

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, releasing his restraining grip and getting up from the floor in order to allow Gabriel freedom of movement.

“Can’t I pop in every now and again to say hi to my gorgeous husband?” Gabriel replied, but the joke fell flat.

“Sit down.” Jack gestured at his cot. “I’d offer you refreshments, but alas.”

Gabriel laboriously picked himself up off the floor, sitting heavily on the mattress. He was still wearing the mask, which worried Jack even more than the slumped shape of his body. He placed a hand on Gabriel’s knee, running the pad of his thumb over the rough material. This … costume. He knew that Gabriel had hand-crafted each piece of the uniform himself. It was as functional, yes. Dramatic, even more so. A statement. Something Jack was endlessly grateful for and proud of. Each and every detail personally attended to. He’d always admired this about Gabriel.

And Gabriel was still wearing the mask. The cold, unfeeling surface of the Reaper, the eyes hollow and dark. Those were statements, too.

In the background, somewhere, one of the prisoners cried out.

“Hey,” Jack whispered and cleared his throat. Gabriel jumped.

“Sorry. I brought you something.”

“What, a souvenir? Didn’t know Talon has a giftshop. Is it a mug? I could use a mug.”

Gabriel chuckled, and Jack counted that as a win. But there, cradled in his broad palm, glittering faintly in the darkness was … a small thing.

“Careful,” he said, and Jack hesitated. “It’s Murano glass.”

A dove. It was a dove made from delicate glass. Most of its color was lost in the dim light, but Jack could see specks of clear silver threaded through its body. He ran a careful finger along the swoop of its delicate wings, afraid to break it.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you, Gabe.”

“Do you, uh, have a place where you can hide it?”

“Sure, yeah.” Jack carefully picked up the glass dove and carried it to the other side of his cell, where he kept his contraband cigarettes in a stuffed sock. “Sorry,” he muttered to the dove, as if it were sentient. After all, an unwashed sock smelling of Jack’s toes and nicotine was no place for a creature as pure and delicate as the glass dove. But there was no other place the guards wouldn’t take it away from him. There was a kind of understanding about cigarettes, but not much else.

“I got it in Venice,” Gabriel said behind him, voice carefully smooth.

“You were there on a mission?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Did you hear the news?”

“Uh, nothing related to Venice. Why?”

“Anything … Anything from Africa? Numbani maybe?”

Jack rubbed his palms on his thighs, shaking his head.

“Not really, no. I heard about an incident in Giza though. Fareeha was involved. It was probably Anubis. But that’s not what you mean.”

“No. Though I am worried about that. I’m talking about the Doomfist gauntlet. It was supposed to be shown at the Heritage Museum in Numbani. And I told you about the museum heist last time I was here. Well, we were sent to retrieve it again.”

“Okay,” Jack said slowly. “How does that get you to Venice?”

Gabriel sighed.

“We got the gauntlet, by the way. But before that, we … picked up something else.”

“Gabe, the suspense is killing me.”

“Sorry. I’m- … We broke Akande Ogundimu out of prison.”

“Okay.”

He heard Gabriel splutter and saw the glint of his claws – seriously, claws on his cloves, what was he thinking – waving through the air.

“Jack. _Doomfist_. Reunited with his gauntlet. He’s one of Talon’s leaders, you know.”

“Good, so now we have a name confirmed on the list. That’s great.”

“ _Jack_.”

“I still don’t see where Venice and my beautiful gift come into play.”

“I can’t believe you’re not taking this seriously right now,” Gabriel muttered under his breath. And then, louder, he said: “I think Ogundimu hand-picked me to help with his escape. He went on a mission without me, but with Widowmaker and … our new associate, the one who helped me arrange my holo-call to you a while back. They went to retrieve information from an asset in Monaco. Then he called me to Venice.”

“And what happened in Venice?”

“Nothing much. But I suspect Ogundimu eliminated one of his competitors. Another leader of Talon, who had a different vision.”

“That’s good. He’s doing your job for you.”

The Reaper mask tilted from left to right.

“That’s not- … Jack, this is The Successor we’re talking about. Not just any Doomfist. He’s intelligent. Strategic. Calculated. Confident. And he hand-picked me. He inducted me into the Talon Council himself.”

“That is wonderful news! Did you get any other names? Did you recognize anyone?”

And this was it, wasn’t it. Jack felt the breathless enthusiasm leak out of him like a poisoned breath. Gabriel found something. Doomfist alone would not curb his sense for success, not on his own. Yes, Ogundimu was dangerous, and siding with him was a risky move, but one that was very likely to pay out. High risk, high reward. But this. It had spooked Gabriel so much, he must have fled from Italy directly back to the US, and from there to Jack’s cell.

“ _She_ was there, too.”

There was only one person, really, who would cause such a reaction from Gabriel, and even the mere thought of her froze the blood in Jack’s veins, and ignited a fury in his heart that left him trembling.

“Did she recognize you?” he asked, sounding a thousand times calmer than he felt.

“No. But has to suspect it’s me. After all, she was the one who unlocked these powers in me.” Gabriel, slumped on the cot, hanging his head. “I rreally thought for sure I’d seen the last of Moira O’Deorain.”

Jack took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before releasing it in a controlled manner.

“God, Gabe, are you alright?”

As soon as Gabriel shook his head, Jack crossed the distance between them and engulfed his husband in a tight, solid embrace. The cot creaked in protest beneath their combined weight, but all Jack cared about was the full body shudder shaking Gabriel’s body, as he finally allowed the tension bleed from his limbs.

“I don’t think I’ve been alright ever since …” There was a pause, and Jack held his breath, waiting for Gabriel to continue. “Jack, I don’t think I’ve ever been alright. Not when I joined the Army. Not when they recruited me into the SEP. Not during the Crisis, and not in Blackwatch. Not now, either.”

Jack quietly buried his nose in the stiff, unforgiving material of Gabriel’s coat, hiding the tears suddenly stinging in his eyes. He tried not to read into this. He tried not to take it to heart, to hear, somewhere, in there, an accusation. But it was hard. Especially because Jack had long since suspected that he had failed in more than one way. That he had failed Gabriel. The man he swore to love and protect.

He wanted to be hurt, to hear Gabriel say that of course there were times he was alright. Of course Jack made it all better, and he had found happiness with him. But he knew it wouldn’t be true. So he swallowed his pain, blinked away his tears, and pressed a kiss to Gabriel’s temple.

“If I could, I would do it,” he muttered, lips brushing against the short-cropped hair of the person he loved most on this planet.

“Do what?” Gabriel asked.

“Make you happy. Let you forget anything that ever hurt you or took away from you. Show you that you are perfect, and beautiful, just the way you are.”

“But you already do that, Jack.”

When Jack remained silent, Gabriel wiggled in his embrace until he had to let him go.

“Jack,” he said, the weight of a thousand words and emotions behind the name. With his gauntleted hands he reached up and removed the skull mask that had so far hidden his face and his eyes from view. “Jack. Why the hell did you think I came here? In my moment of weakness, I have chosen to take this enormous risk that could expose our plan, endanger both of our lives and the lives of those we care about. I came here, to you, because you are the only one, the only thing in my life right now that … that helps me. _You_ help me, Jack.”

Lost for words, all that Jack could do was to shift his center of gravity, dragging them both sideways until they were lying flat on Jack’s tiny cot. The springs creaked in protest again, but he paid it no mind. Gabriel was right here, warm and solid in his embrace, and his heart was nearly bursting, he was so grateful to have this human being, who for some unfathomable reason held him in such high regard.

“I love you,” he whispered, brushing chapped lips against Gabriel’s temple, the curve of his cheek, his brow, his nose, anywhere he could reach, hoping it conveyed the depth of his emotions.

Hands scrabbling for purchase on supple leather, catching on the metal studs curving along Gabriel’s spine, Jack held his husband tight, pouring every inch of his love, adoration, devotion and trust into the gesture. If this was all he could do, he only hoped that it was enough.

“I love you too.” Slight pressure brought distance between their bodies, letting cool air flow over Jack’s heated skin and allowing their eyes to meet. “I’ll always love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)


	8. Visitorless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack isn’t alone, even when no one is visiting him. Usually though he has something to look forward to, until he doesn’t anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the last chapter for this work for now, as I am waiting for Blizzard to move the current timeline forward and give me new material lol. So this will stay marked as WIP, it's not complete, and I will continue with it. However, I am working on a sequel, which is decoupled from canon, so keep an eye out for that!
> 
> Also I'm going on a three week vacation basically without internet. Comments are still and always will be welcome, but don't be discouraged if I don't reply right away!
> 
> This chapter contains some vagueries and other mindfuckery, as well as a cliffhanger (ish) at the end. In case you don't like that, perhaps you should skip this for now and wait for the next chapter or the sequel. Or just be prepared for it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Jack had earned himself somewhat of a reputation among the men imprisoned at the USDB. It wasn’t a bad thing per se, being known for something, and he shamelessly used his intimidation factor to get himself unlimited access to training equipment. But this was something he hadn’t foreseen, and it was so unexpected to him that others _had_ seen it coming.

It was a fact of life, apparently, that Jack – not dissimilar to Gabriel, might he stress – tended to … pick up and keep strays. In human form. Who knew what attracted young, troubled people to seek protection and guidance from him of all people.

His current flock of chicks that he’d somehow acquired without meaning to consisted of three unfortunate men – boys, really – that the rest of this institution would have chewed up and swallowed like nothing. How they knew he’d take them and why they came to him mattered far less than the fact that he was glad his presence alone seemed to be enough protection to avoid the worst.

Khaled was a sweet, innocent, curly haired boy who kept calling him “Mister Morrison, sir” even after his continued insistence to just call him Jack. He’d been charged with the murder of civilians. It had been bad intel, and then bad luck. As the drone pilot sitting comfortably back on US soil, he’d pressed the button to bomb the building full of civilians just a few seconds after someone else had pressed the button to revoke the previous order on the grounds of new intel. It haunted him sometimes, Jack knew, having that blood on his hands. Yet it was only a technicality.

“It never occurred to me that I’d be a murderer anyway,” Khaled would say sometimes, looking uncharacteristically somber. “Except there are apparently right and wrong people to murder. And they told me to murder the wrong ones.”

Miles reminded Jack a lot of himself as a young man. Stoic and brash, he got in trouble at the USDB on his very first day. Jack had to intervene, or there would have been bloody noses and punishments all around. He had been charged with disobeying orders.

“They were bullshit orders. It was pure luck they didn’t see and kill all of us. I didn’t feel like dying just because we were told to run into enemy fire.”

And Nolan was their resident deserter. Having mistakenly left his post, allowing his troops to be overrun, a story was spun that Nolan had planned to desert them, possibly even defect to the enemy.

“It’s bullshit. All circumstantial fucking evidence. They got nothing on me. It was a clerical error, and now they pin it all on me.”

They all had their stories. Whether or not they were truly innocent scapegoats or not, Jack didn’t really care. They usually didn’t talk about it. All they needed from each other was company. A group to blend in with. A pride. Strength in numbers. And with Jack as their ringleader, their pack had significantly higher standing that it should, with only four members. He didn’t have to do much to earn such status either. His name preceded him. Myths about his enhanced abilities. The words ‘war criminal’ had a powerful ring to them too.

So he didn’t mind casting a long shadow, if it meant that these three could find shelter within it. They were nice to have around, anyway. The three of them had become fast friends out of necessity, leaving Jack mostly to his own devices except during mealtimes. Then, sitting next to him gave them a special kind of immunity from bullies, like a trouble repellant. No one wanted to bother a supersoldier, much less one convicted of war crimes and crimes against humanity, while he was eating his scalding hot soup. There may or may not have been an incident relating such soup.

Sometimes they asked Jack for advice. For consolation. For absolution.

“How do you deal with having killed people?” Khaled would ask.

And usually Jack would talk about making a distinction between reacting in the field and rationalizing wars. How when you are faced with a gun, there can be no hesitation, or you will be killed. How one must be careful about using us vs them rhetoric to justify killing. And how ultimately, they were soldiers, and soldiers’ tools were meant to kill.

But Khaled was different. He was never meant to be a soldier. Was never meant to carry the consequences.

So he would reply instead: “Try to think less in terms of guilt and innocence, and more in terms of cause and effect. What happened wasn’t your fault. It also wasn’t the fault of the people who died. What happened is, someone gave you an order and you followed it to the best of your ability, as you were taught. You pushed a button. A small cog in a vast wheel of causality. Who built the drone? Who developed the bomb? Who gave you false intel? It doesn’t matter. It happened, and there is no changing it.”

With Miles, Jack would talk a lot about patriotism, and what it meant to serve your country.

“Should I have walked willingly into my death? I don’t think so, but … the law says I was wrong. My country, for which I was supposed to die, instead put me in this prison.”

“Sometimes there are wrong orders. Unlawful orders, for instance. In that case, it is clear. But in your case, it is something different. We are talking about human error, wrong judgement. You were given an order that you knew could result in you dying, so you disobeyed. Is it wrong to want to survive?”

There was no definite answer to these questions, so these discussions often left Miles unsatisfied and restless, in which case Jack usually invited him to a friendly match of basketball or some other game to distract him. It was what Gabriel used to do, back when Jack was a hotheaded newbie and prone to recalcitrance. He didn’t know how much it helped Miles. Whether it was just a stopgap, and one day he’d just explode with frustration. But for now, they clung to this little tradition, and Miles seemed to genuinely enjoy besting Jack every now and then with some impressive moves.

Nolan was a bit different. He was irritable at best, volatile at his worst. Always angry, with him it was often easiest to just listen. Not many people seemed to have done that in the past. He’d excuse himself for talking too much.

“Sorry, Jack,” he’d say and rub his mouth, itching for a cigarette. “Didn’t mean to talk your ear off.”

“It’s alright, Nolan. You know you can always talk to me.”

Some days it felt like an empty phrase, but every time it lifted some weight off of Nolan’s narrow shoulders anyway, and that was enough. It had to be enough.

“Have you ever met the President, Mister Morrison, sir?” Khaled asked one day, eyes curious and wide as he leaned across the lunch table, unheeding of his food going cold.

“Of course he has, he used to be the Strike Commander of Overwatch.”

“Yes, but- …”

Before any kind of argument could break out, Jack replied: “Yes, Khaled, I have. Multiple Presidents, in fact. Even if you only count the US.”

“Wow, that is amazing, sir!”

He shrugged, poking at his food a little.

“They’re just people doing a job. I was there doing my job, too.”

“I never really thought about it that way,” Miles said quietly.

“Everyone is just doing their job. Look at the guards. Our soldiers,” Nolan added, bitterly. “We do our jobs so well, see where it got us. We’re all in prison.”

“But some of us are here voluntarily.”

“The guards? Yeah, fuck them.”

“Language,” Jack chided almost absentmindedly.

“Sorry, sir. _Heck_ them.”

“ _Nolan_.”

“Sorry, sir.”

They ate in silence for a bit, dropping the subject. After a while the topic slowly drifted towards sports. Miles was interested in basketball, while Nolan liked soccer the most, and Khaled had no preference. He just liked to listen to the other two boys argue about whose sport was better.

“Can I have your media pass, Jack?” Nolan growled after a while, exasperated.

“What do you need it for?” Jack asked, though he already knew.

“I just want to show Miles to show the sports section. And what _real_ sport looks like.”

Khaled snickered in the background, as Jack handed him the media pass.

“I’ll show you, just you wait.”

Nolan furiously stomped off to grab a hardlight tablet while Miles and Khaled kept sitting quietly giggling at their table. Another argument broke out about which news outlet to check that Jack blocked out, instead focusing on finishing his meal.

It was only when a strange hush fell over the boys’ conversation that he paid attention again.

“Nolan?”

The boy guiltily jumped in his seat and stared at him. Meanwhile, Miles only made a sympathetic noise.

“There’s, uh. News, sir,” he said.

“What kind of news.”

“It’s … about you. In a way.” Miles exchanged a look with Nolan, who just paled and shoved the tablet in Miles’ hands. “Dude, what? It’s just- …”

“You don’t understand,” Nolan hissed. “He’s- … _You know._ ”

“Boys.” They all stopped and stared at him. “What’s the news?”

Miles eventually was the one to hand him the tablet, though he looked even more serious than usual.

“You should take your time,” he advised, and gestured at the other boys to leave with him.

Somehow the hardlight tablet felt very heavy in his hands. The noise around him from the men eating lunch was slowly dying down, leaving him in a bubble of silence. He already knew what the news said, judging by the boys’ reaction. There was only one possibility.

He clicked the news page open, calmly reading the fat headline splashed across the screen.

_NOTORIOUS TERRORIST ‘REAPER’ KILLED IN SHOOTOUT WITH POLICE_

Jack only briefly skimmed the article, noting Agent Brooks’ name mentioned somewhere. Roughly speaking, it merely detailed that after a several years long manhunt, Interpol had finally gotten the drop on the big bad Reaper, catching him _in flagrante_ _delicto_ as he was about to steal some experimental weaponry or some such from a CIA blacksite. In the ensuing fight, Reaper was injured fatally, succumbing to his wounds not long after. The article then went on to stress the countless terrible deeds of the terrorist, and that long held suspicions that former Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes was behind the persona were finally confirmed for good. With his death, this in turn rendered any pending accusations towards him moot, officially closing the case against Overwatch command.

Jack calmly closed the webpage and shut off the tablet, setting it next to his empty tray of food. There were a few other men milling around during the last minutes of lunchtime, but they paid him no heed. Good. No need to school his features yet.

He continued to sit for a while, sorting out his thoughts and deciding how to handle the very high possibility of questions and concerns. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that it would be best to just … give them what they wanted. The expected, the familiar.

Once he’d clamped the tablet under his arm and returned his tray, the boys descended upon him like vultures, as if they had been watching him from afar the entire time. Which wasn’t too farfetched, honestly.

“Are you okay, Mister Morrison, sir?”

Jack carefully regarded each and every one of their faces. Nolan’s anxiety was written plain on his face, while Miles looked hesitant, if not slightly confused. Khaled, how had asked the question, was genuinely concerned, as only he could be.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied. “But if you boys have any more questions, I’d appreciate it if we could postpone that discussion. At the very least, until we’re somewhere a bit more private.”

The three of them nodded in unison, waiting eagerly for him to lead the way. With a sigh, he brought them to the gym. Not very private either, seeing as there were a couple of people working out there already, but the noise coming from them and the music someone was playing would cover their voices adequately for now.

Jack gestured for the boys to sit on a bench, choosing to remain standing himself.

“First of all,” he began, watching with satisfaction as the three immediately stilled their fidgeting, raising their heads to listen intently, “I appreciate that you brought this information to my attention immediately. I don’t know what might have happened, had someone else blindsided me with this.”

“You don’t seem so surprised, though,” Miles pointed out.

“True.” Jack looked at the tablet, as if the article was still there. Right now, it was only a transparent piece of technology, and it did not hold any answers.

“You knew?”

“Knew about what exactly?” he retorted.

Nolan and Miles exchanged a glance.

“That your friend was the Reaper,” the former eventually clarified.

Jack hesitated for a second, and then nodded.

“I did know, yes.”

Khaled gasped.

“But sir! Mister Morrison, sir, that is horrible! He betrayed you!”

Jack felt a muscle in his cheek twitch, and tried to control his facial expressions. But even hearing these kinds of accusations was hard. Harder, even, when coming from someone he knew and liked.

“He did not betray me. What someone, anyone decides to do, is never someone else’s responsibility. He is no more beholden to me than I am to him,” Jack said, mixing lies and truth. Because while it was true that taking this mission had ultimately been Gabriel’s decision, their relationship, their marriage did make them responsible for each other in a way no one else could understand.

“Are you glad he’s dead?” Miles asked tersely, frowning. Jack couldn’t parse whether he was just unhappy with this situation, or if perhaps he didn’t like Jack’s answers so far.

“No. He was my friend.”

“But Mister Morrison, sir! He was a terrorist, he killed a lot of people!”

Jack fixed Khaled with a calm, level gaze and said: “So did I.”

Cowed, the boy hunched in on himself and looked away, visibly troubled. Jack regretted that this discussion would probably cause Khaled’s own quandaries and doubts to resurface. But he would not openly lie to them, especially not about this. Unless …

“Do you think he’s really dead?”

Jack blinked, surprised at the question. It was Miles again who had asked it, carefully watching him with hard eyes. Did he know more than he was letting on?

“Why do you ask that?” he countered.

Miles shrugged, false casual.

“I’ve seen some of the Reaper’s abilities. Video only, of course. But to me it seemed like they would provide such a tactical advantage in combat that it would be nearly impossible to catch him out in a way that would lead to him getting killed. There were rumors of a healing factor far exceeding for example your own enhancements. Not to speak of his ability to turn incorporeal, which would have rendered any attempt at restraining him moot anyway.”

Hearing the kid talk, Jack had to suppress a grin. He’d always known this quiet, stoic young man perceived more than he let on at times.

“I can’t say, really. All the information we have is this article,” was all Jack said.

“Fair enough.”

“So …” All eyes turned to Nolan, who kept looking slightly frazzled. “You’re going to be fine? What does this mean for your case? Will your sentence be reduced, or are you going to be released even? Are you going to _leave us_?”

“Oh Nolan.”

Jack sighed, lowering himself to his knees with some minor difficulty. Even his enhanced joints weren’t as they once were, after all. But like this he was able to look directly in the young man’s eyes, seeing some of the fear and apprehension there.

“I don’t think I’m going to leave you guys very soon. My trial is done, and the sentence fixed. I could probably appeal for a reduction, but even then, there would be more than enough left to keep me here for life.”

Nolan nodded forcefully, wiping his nose on his sleeve, looking contrite.

“I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want you to- … I wish all of us could get out of here. I don’t want you to stay just because of us. It’s just- …”

“I know.”

This prison was a world all unto itself, and they were its inhabitants. Men from all walks of life, thrown together by chance and misfortune. Some would eventually be able to escape back into the real world, but most wouldn’t. Even those that did would carry the memory like a stain upon them for the rest of their lives. Jack didn’t know how long he would be here for. He could hope for the best and remember Gabriel’s promise. Or he could look at his sentence realistically and realize that he would very likely die inside the USDB’s walls. The fact of this alone was hard enough to deal with. It was why he wanted to help these three unfortunate boys. Friendship could be powerful enough to dispel some of the hardship this place brought upon its residents.

Lying to them made it very hard though.

He had tried to stick to white lies, keeping his answers vague, and mixing half-truths with some intermittent lies. But Jack still lay awake that night, feeling guilt churning in his stomach. Because those boys trusted him with their deepest fears, trusting that he would listen and soothe their worries. They had offered him that courtesy in return, yet Jack didn’t need it. What for?

He knew Gabriel Reyes was alive. And he was coming to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me your thoughts in the comments!


End file.
